Story by Abby Cook

When you turn five years old you are sent to pollinate whichever garden is closest to your home. This is the first job that English children of the year twenty-thirty are obliged to endure. They take their tiny black paintbrushes and touch them to the stamens, allowing the bon-bon lemon yellow to dust the tip, before sharing the pollen with the stigmas, known as the Vital Crossover. They will begin this process throughout Spring and are monitored every day on their progress. The children are made aware of the importance of their job, and the devastation they could cause if they fuck it up. By the age of seven their faces lose the youthful naivety and bags begin to form beneath the twinkles of their eyes. They are only beginning to understand the complexity of their job, its necessity, in the same space they learnt their two times tables.